To See Beyond the Mask
by IronEclipse
Summary: "You are interfering," she managed to say while tugging at his hand again. Another sly, almost invisible grin slid across the edges of Altaïr's mouth. Maria decided that she hated the expression. His impression of a rock was much more enjoyable.


" _Any fool can know. The point is to understand._ "  
~Albert Einstein

To See Beyond the Mask

* * *

Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad. Son of no one. It must have been lonely to belong to nothing, not even a name. The thought had crossed Maria's mind countless times, but like the steady ebb and flow of water, she let it remain untouched. Such ideas were deadly, so poisonous that they would slowly pollute the mind. It would have been foolish to let the mere notion of a name cloud her judgement, but unfortunately, Maria Thorpe was a woman who lacked any good sense. She didn't particularly feel sorry for the assassin she had come to call her friend. More than anything, she was mad. He had so little—at most the clothes on his back, and yet chose to devote his life to a cause that had stolen everything from his reach. It was pathetic. Maria knew that she was being hypocritical, but that wasn't the point. In any and every situation, Altaïr refused to show any emotion. He remained absolutely stoic despite the fact that his life was a muddled mess. If there was anything she wanted to do, it was pull a reaction from him. For the first time in her life, Maria wanted him to do _something_ rather than nothing at all. Regrettably that was too much to ask.

Barely suppressing a scowl, Maria glanced at Altaïr from across the room. Like usual, his nose was buried in a thick and heavy book. Since they had started to travel together, she had learned that he enjoyed stuffing his head with nonsensical political and social ideals. If he wasn't looking for someone to stab, Altaïr chose to educate himself. It was frustrating. Sometimes he pulled out a wad of paper to scribble on, but Maria was not privy to the information he disclosed on each thin sheet. There were times of course, where he chose to talk with her. Surprisingly, those events were exceedingly rare. She supposed that Altaïr forgot that she was there. He was a man that valued independence. Maria had once prized solitude as well, but that was before her life was stolen from her. Now she craved company. Shockingly enough, she sought the assassin out. At first she didn't mind the silence, but now it was driving her insane. She didn't know how he remained utterly transfixed on a silly thing such as a book. It was more than maddening.

Sucking in a deep breath of air, Maria attempted to reign in her frustration. She clenched her fists and envisioned the blade of a sword. Her home had once been the battle field. She had lived, breathed, and sweat in the name of a cause that had seemed greater than herself. As the years trickled by however, Maria learned that she had been wrong. The foundation she had dedicated her life to had been a scam—a mere fraud. Accepting that fact was difficult. It still was, even after months of recuperation from mental wounds. Apart of her body, maybe a small fragment of her heart, would never be able to let go of the past. Too much of her mind had been occupied with hate. If she was to tell the truth, it still was.

Muttering under her breath, Maria moved to a nearby window. She starred outside, wishing she could run from the questioning stare that sent needles down her back. As much as she desired to flee, she knew it wouldn't become a possibility any time soon. The weather was much too hot. It was funny; after years of living away from the damp climate in England, Maria was unable to fully acclimatize to the sticky and unbearable heat in the east. Moisture clung to her skin and hair in an unpleasant manner, one she angrily wished would disappear. It was a clear fact that the temperature only served to elevate her impatience. Maria felt like she was going to explode. Altaïr, once surrounded in a literary oblivion, obviously realized that as well.

"Are you unwell?" he questioned in a blank tone from the back of the small room. Maria's jaw tightened at the sound of his voice. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought the wall had suddenly decided to speak. There was no variation in his speech, nothing to indicate that he was at all interested in what she had to say for herself. It was amazing how he could remain so completely indifferent.

"You do an excellent impression of a human," Maria paused to face the man she could hardly even begin to comprehend, "I have to say that I'm quite impressed. I didn't think you had it in you."

With his hood down, Maria was able to clearly see the panes of his face. At first, he rarely showed her his countenance, but as time passed he had obviously grown accustomed to her presence. Despite the scar that decorated the edge of his mouth, Altaïr's appearance was quite pleasing. Maria would hardly admit it to herself, but she enjoyed his eyes. The man may have hardly passed for a human, but that feature alone was almost enough to make up for it. They were truly the windows to his soul. Without his eyes, Maria would have difficulty reading Altaïr altogether. There was no way she would have known that he didn't enjoy her sarcastic comment.

Rather than reply to her offhand statement, Altaïr remained silent. Something flickered in his eyes, a passing shadow of irritation perhaps, but Maria was unable to detect what it was. The heat was beginning to play tricks on her mind. Biting the edge of her lip, she once again chose to stare out the window. Staring at the assassin only served to frustrate her to no end. Like a rugged stone, he remained utterly immovable.

"You could say something," she ground out in a bored tone, "speaking from experience, I have come to understand that books don't make very good company."

From the back of the room, Altaïr sighed. "A man is a product of his thoughts, Maria. What he thinks is what he may become."

A loud snort exploded throughout the air. "How very philosophical of you."

Once again, Altaïr chose to ignore Maria's humourless comment. He sat quietly, slowly returning to his book. Besides the faint echoes of the outside world, all that could be heard was the odd crinkle of paper that exploded throughout the air. Before it was respectfully silent, but now it rang like a battle cry within her mind. She had to give Altaïr credit; he had more than one way to illustrate his ideas. His actions, as nonchalant and expressionless as they seemed, were filled with meaning. It just took some skill to see it.

"So my previous point remains unchallenged," she grumbled under her breath. It wasn't her intention for Altaïr to hear, but like the terrible man he was, his ears were always prepared to intercept any sort of knowledge. It didn't matter what sort it was.

"Choose your battles wisely, Maria."

"Is that a threat?" she countered, a weird sort of excitement dancing throughout her veins. It wasn't obvious of course, but she was very intrigued. Rather than ignore her malicious ramblings, Altaïr had chosen to confront them with a sly sort of vigour. Maria had to admit that his behaviour was unusual. Hardly suppressing a frown, she turned to face him again. His book, once dominating the edges of his small desk, was completely closed. Feigning indifference, she crossed her arms. She was beginning to enjoy the direction the conversation was going.

"That entirely depends on your perspective."

"Of course it does," Maria said, her voice thick with annoyance, "is there a particular reason why you have to be so cryptic?"

Sighing, Altaïr ran several fingers throughout his hair. It was a mess, but one that wasn't unappealing in the least. "That has never been my intention."

"Stop acting so nonchalant," Maria began in a harsh tone, "it's unlike you."

Altaïr frowned, his brown gaze filled with distaste. "You are acting ridiculous. What have I done to upset you?"

That was a difficult question to answer. There wasn't even a remote possibility that Maria could sum up all of her feelings in a complete sentence. She was just _annoyed_. Her life, once filled with possibilities, was a total mess. It was hot outside—so warm that her skin literally burned. To make everything worse, Altaïr was acting like an oblivious child. She had every reason to be upset, but at the same time had none at all.

"Your whole presence upsets me," Maria muttered under her breath.

"That's not entirely true."

"How so?"

Sighing, Altaïr slowly rose to his feet. "You have fought and travelled along my side. If my presence was unsettling I would have heard about it long ago."

A loud snort exploded in the air. Maria scowled and fidgeted with the edge of her tunic. "I have called you an arrogant fool far too many times, Altaïr. By now I'm certain that the name has been branded into your very skull. Don't tell me that you aren't unsettling in the least. I have reason to believe otherwise."

Weaving around his chair, Altaïr began walking toward Maria. For some unidentifiable reason, a small smirk had slipped around the corners of his mouth. It was barely detectable, but she knew it was there. That tiny, almost insignificant display of emotion was enough to put her on edge. The man was supposed to be made of stone. Suddenly, out of the blue, he was throwing grins around like throwing knives. Maria had a feeling that she had stepped into a battle that couldn't really be won. She had challenged him in a manner that should have been left untouched.

"Why am I unsettling, Maria? Perhaps you can answer that question for me." He asked quietly.

Maria stuck her chin up into the air, refusing to allow her thoughts to take control of her actions. She would face Altaïr like the woman she was; a worthy adversary. "You're a ruthless killer."

"And?" Altaïr prompted, his feet still moving in Maria's direction.

"An arrogant fool."

He shook his head, his mouth briefly twitching again. "Words are your weapons, Maria. They may be sharp, but lack meaning. It is my belief that you have no real intention to start a fight."

An angry sigh slipped through Maria's lips. She met Altaïr's demanding gaze and suppressed shiver of apprehension. The look in his eyes was almost predatory. It was something she didn't have the ability to fully comprehend. Seconds ago he was peacefully reading a book, now he was taking an uncanny interest in the conversation. Altaïr was truly a person she couldn't understand.

"Don't claim to know me," Maria said, a frown quickly consuming her features. She was disturbed by the sound of her voice. As Altaïr moved closer, it seemed to weaken, becoming nothing but a soft mumble.

"But I do," Altaïr began in a serious tone, "I know you quite well."

Perhaps that was part of her problem. Altaïr, a man she was supposed to hate, knew her like the back of his hand. She wanted to pull at his seams because her own were beginning to break. It was better to start a petty argument over something that made little sense because it was familiar. Maria had been born and bred to fight—it was in her blood. _Feeling_ , allowing herself to step beyond the boundary of friendship, was uncharted territory.

"I am not one of your books," Maria muttered under her breath. She watched Altaïr with a weary gaze.

"Again, that depends on your perspective."

A dark laugh slipped through her lips. "And you tell me that I hide behind words. Riddles are your form of defence, Altaïr. You conceal your true intentions with the fear that I will not understand them. That is the path of a coward."

He moved forward again, only this time he was less than an arms length away. "I am not the coward here, Maria. My intentions have always been clear. I think you have always known that."

An odd sort of panic trickled across her skin. "I am no coward, Altaïr."

"If that is so, please do me the honour of proving otherwise."

"What would you have me do? Run you through with a sword?" she spat out, completely astounded by Altaïr's ridiculous request, "My apologies, but that's hardly civilized."

"That's never stopped you before."

Maria's breath hitched. She didn't like where he was going with the conversation. Every word that passed through his mouth had some sort of concerning implication. It was enough to set her skin on fire. With every passing moment her cheeks became a vibrant shade of red. She wanted to blame it on the heat, but knew otherwise.

"Where are you going?"Altaïr asked as she attempted to leave the room in an odd sort of hurry.

"Away." Was all she managed to spit out between clenched teeth. Her conversation with the assassin had gone on long enough. It would be better, far more safe, if Maria released her frustration in a manner that was proactive. Currently she was digging herself into a giant abyss. If she remained, there was no possibility that she would come out unscathed.

"You rarely run from a battle, let alone a conversation."

"It's one a regret having," Maria began in a blank tone, "I suggest returning to your book. Unfortunately, I was wrong before. It has much more to offer than I do in all aspects."

Altaïr placed a steady hand on Maria's shoulder, forcing her to stop moving. In any normal situation she would have pushed him away, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to move. The sensation of his fingertips against her skin was electrifying. It sent shivers down to her fingers and toes. As much as she secretly enjoyed the feeling, it bothered her all the same. She was supposed to feel empowered, and yet Altaïr only served to create a kind of uncomfortable fear.

"Maria," he said in a steady tone, "running now would be fruitless."

"It's what I am good at. Try not to interfere."

A loud sigh slipped through his lips. His grip tightened along her shoulder. "You have faced many demons in the past few months. I don't see why this is something you cannot conquer as well."

"You are a different kind of complication, Altaïr," Maria managed to say, although her voice was beginning to fail again.

"You have always enjoyed a challenge," he said rather softly, reaching to fiddle with a stray of hair along the back of Maria's neck.

Forcing herself to have a little more control, Maria attempted to move away from the assassin's reach. She roughly snatched Altaïr's hand and pulled it away from her shoulder. Unfortunately, her actions did not have the desired effect. He only stepped closer—shifted into her personal space until the fabric of his robes was only centimetres away. His breath danced across her cheekbones in a tantalizing manner, one which made Maria's head spin. She was already disoriented due to the wicked heat. Altaïr's presence would only elevate her bewildered condition.

"You are interfering," she managed to say while tugging at his hand again. Another sly, almost invisible grin, slid across the edges of Altaïr's mouth. Maria decided that she hated the expression. His impression of a rock was much more enjoyable.

"You questioned my humanity. I am only trying to return the favour."

"Oh? And how exactly did you plan on doing that?" she asked sarcastically. When Altaïr pulled her hand and placed it along the crook of his neck, she had a vague idea about what he planned to do. The realization of his actions whipped up a storm of fear within her head. Despite all of the demons she had faced and conquered, the man standing within her line of sight was the one she dreaded the most. Death was his friend. Life, the very essence of growth and prosperity, fled at his very shadow. As he stood before her, absolute terror danced across Maria's vision. She only knew how to fight. Caring about another human being was something else entirely.

She sucked in a breath when Altaïr's fingertips brushed against her cheek. He must have seen fear flicker across her gaze as his expression, once hard and cold like stone, abruptly softened. "I'm certain you have a very good idea."

An annoyed scowl slipped across Maria's features. "Arrogance will be the death of you. I swear to it."

"I can think of better things."

"Really? Like what?"

He never answered the question. Perhaps he did in some sort of convoluted manner, but Maria didn't see it at first. Her mind had literally turned off as Altaïr's lips brushed against her own. She leaned into his touch, surprised that he could pull such a strong reaction from her unconscious mind. Fear still fluttered throughout her stomach, but she was more than willing to ignore the sensation. For the first time in her life, Maria was finally seeing beyond the mask that defined Altaïr. Behind the arrogance, so-called conceit, and reserved nature existed a man filled with passion. She could feel it in his fingertips, his touch, and the breath that danced across her lips. He was holding back some force of nature that couldn't be defined by word or lore. It was compelling, and like the foolish woman Maria was, that force just had to be explored.

Sucking back her fear, Maria slid her hand from Altaïr's neck to the back of his head. She twisted her fingers into his hair roughly, deepening the kiss he had chosen to create. Her actions were far from gentle, but that didn't seem to matter in the least. The assassin played right into her hands. As she pulled at his strings, small fragments of passion seemed to slither into existence. A hand slowly wound its way around her waist, pulling her closer to insanity. She gasped against his mouth and continued to lean into his gentle touch. If Maria had it her way, she would attempt to untangle his mind forever. Unfortunately, all things had to come to an end.

Remaining utterly silent, Altaïr released her from his unyielding grasp. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were filled with fire. Despite his dishevelled appearance, he remained as passive as ever. The funny thing was, Maria would not condemn him for it.

"Was that human enough for you?" he asked quietly, his voice fading with a sort of breathlessness only she could admire.

Breathing deeply, Maria sent Altaïr a scathing look. A kiss, as complex as it was, by no means meant that everything had suddenly changed. She was still frustrated, although it was more at herself than anyone else. Her future was more complicated than ever. Some otherworldly being had chosen to bind her path to a man that she had to fight to understand. It was confusing and completely bewildering, but Maria had a feeling she would accept it in the end. If she had to dance in circles just to gain some insight on the inner workings of his head, it would be done. She was certain he would do the same for her. Altaïr enjoyed a good read after all.

"I can think of better things." Maria mocked in a similar tone. She sighed, mentally preparing herself for what was going to come.

* * *

 _A/N:_ Hello world! Yes—this piece is corny, typical, and far from unique, but that's what you get when your brain is dead after exams. It's my first attempt at something Assassin's Creed related, which is a start. Beginnings are always a little rocky, I suppose. Nevertheless, this little story was amusing to write! Altaïr and Maria are incredibly intriguing. I wish their story had been expanded upon. Perhaps, that's the fangirl in me talking, but my point remains. Their story is such a mystery.

 _~IronEclipse_


End file.
